A Pleasant Satire
by AllAboardtheSSVNormandy
Summary: A collective plea from the cast of Skulduggery Pleasant turns into a multi-chapter story with questionable prospects of ever being finished. Rated M for language and terrifying ideas. Such as Duskyrie and Fletchina.
1. Nearly Naked

Valkyrie's fingers skimmed over her new MacBook Air in the near-darkness of her living room. A stack of books had toppled over next to her and now lay part-way across her back, becoming more and more dislodged by her breathing, but she had no real desire to move them. They were like cardboard-and-paper blankets that didn't really cover much. Whatever rug is usually on the floor of Gordon's living room was the one that she was laying on, and I guess you could just say that she was laying on her stomach on the floor of her living room with her laptop.

But you're not lazy enough to do that, so you decide to break the fourth wall and also mention the rain is tapping against the roof three stories up, and that for some reason that you really don't know, Skulduggery was in the room all along. Never mind that he has a house of his own, he's at Valkyrie's now because apparently he can't stay the hell away from her for more than a few hours before he turns into a psychotic wreck. Fletcher is also clingy enough to share the mansion, and I guess that's where he's living because Derek never really bothers to tell us.

"Aren't you cold?" Skulduggery asked, reminding both you and I that this story is supposed to be a satire, not a rant.

Valkyrie shrugged. "Yeah, it _is_ pretty dumb of me to be wearing extra-small short shorts and a camisole when it's raining outside and I'm wearing an unpadded sports-bra, isn't it? Unfortunately, since I desperately want you to notice me, I've reduced myself to dressing like this for your viewing pleasure. I really have no idea what's going to happen once we fall into eternal love or whatever, but whatever. Have you noticed me yet? I think my underwear covers more than these shorts do."

She lifted herself off the carpet to turn and look at him, regretting the loss of heat building up between the cooperative floor and her abs. He had turned himself away, staring into the depths of the couch to grant her some privacy.

"Please put some clothes on," he said quietly. "This is reminding me too much of my dead wife and son."

"I thought you had a daughter?"

Skulduggery shook a little bit, making his approximation of a sob. "I'm really not sure. The canon hasn't told me and every single fan has its own name and face for my offspring."

Valkyrie giggled. "Yeah, I saw. Apparently she has flowing (insert color here) hair and her given name is Mary while her taken name is Penelope or Grace or Unity or something. I guess she likes the long 'e' sound at the end of her names."

"Don't remind me. The fanon just kind of depresses me a little. And by a little, I mean it depresses me a lot and I would be cutting myself if I had wrists. Clothes, please."

Valkyrie stood, shuddering as the cold air chilled her from all sides. This author decided that Gordon's mansion didn't have central heating- and by the way, I guess she's over eighteen because she's living there. Did I mention that? Oops.

Anyways, she finds some respectable warm clothes and puts them on, relishing the feeling of feeling returning to her legs. For a moment she sits on her bed rubbing the goosebumps from her arms and appreciating the quiet that generally accompanies fanfics of this kind, and not expecting anything actiony to happen at all.

But then Sanguine walked through the wall with a copy of the script in his hand, with Fletcher close behind him doing something ineffectively. It's been decided that Fletcher is forever going to be an annoying frat boy, and that the character development from the fourth book means absolutely nothing.

But back to Sanguine and his impending potty-mouth. "What the fuck is this shit."

Valkyrie swore. "We're not supposed to swear, there are kids that read this!"

"You just swore," Fletcher pointed out.

"Yes, but I didn't _swear_ swore. There's a difference."

Sanguine muttered something unpleasant under his breath.

"See? Even serial killers know how it's done."

"Shut up, both of you. I need a red pen. There's definitely something wrong with this script."

Fletcher agreed, but his words weren't important enough to warrant the confusing of quotation marks.

"It involves the two of us acting like lovesick birds doesn't it?" Valkyrie asked, searching her desk for a writing implement of any kind. She usually doesn't have one at hand. _She is far too busy kicking asses to take names what is wrong with you people._

"Worse. You and Dusk."

Fletcher corrected with something along the lines of "Don't you mean Dusk and I?"

Valkyrie reacted with scorn. "You're doing it wrong, Fletcher. Go flirt with Tanith or something equally punchable. What was that about Dusk and I?"

"Flirting like lovesick doves," Sanguine said. "I mean, I usually don't care, but Dusk will kill everyone if he's forced to film that with you. That includes me, because I'm involved in that scene and it's scaring the shit out of me."

Valkyrie shuddered. The idea of Dusk within arms-length... touching her... No just no. "I need to ask Skulduggery for a pen.

"Won't he shoot me on sight?"

"I think he'll make an allowance for this. He doesn't want me raped by a vampire I hate any more than you do."

Fletcher said something and ran down the stairs, managing to slip on the carpet and roll down like that one comic of Dr McNinja. Only he isn't a ninja and his hair left scratches in the woodwork.

"You're repairing that," Valkyrie informed him loftily as she passed.

"What did he do this time?" Skulduggery called from the living room. "Also, are you wearing clothes?"

"I am wearing clothes. Also, Sanguine is here but please don't kill him."

Surprisingly, Skulduggery didn't burst into the room brandishing his gun. Sanguine exchanged looks with her and warily pulled out his razor.

"Put that away," Valkyrie hissed, then called, "Skulduggery?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be fine? My wife and child are long dead but I can't get over them, I killed my rival, bad things keep happening around me and I blame myself for all of it, I just spent the last few months being tortured by gods, and now I'm in a god awful fanfiction. I'd say everything is peachy. Can't you see my smile? Or hear it, or however you sense that I am smug and self-confident?"

Sanguine shrugged. "That sucks dude. And you're in the other room. I'd say your voice is sufficiently muffled enough that we can't tell what your feelings are other than you sound like a crying teenager telling her parents to go away. As much as I'd like to read something about you dealing with all that, it appears that you also become more girly than Valkyrie does in a Valduggery fic so I guess nobody will be willing to write that ever."

"Did you just say 'sufficiently muffled'?" Valkyrie asked suspiciously. "Aren't you supposed to say 'ain't' and 'yeehaw'?"

"Yeah, but this author ain't from the Deep South- god damnit now I'm saying ain't. Thank you for reminding her that she hasn't ever really heard a southern accent that didn't come from a book, and _you don't hear things in books._ That is also why she pronounces 'herb' without a silent H."

Fletcher said something unimportant on that subject.

"Weren't we talking about how Skulduggery should have all sorts of problems like the fact that he's pretty much gone insane?" Valkyrie asked.

"Yeah, but we're easily distracted. It's past midnight and the author has convinced herself that that's when she does her best work. Why am I the one talking to you all friendly-like, and why isn't it Tanith or someone?"

Fletcher raised his hand.

"Or I guess it could the wonderfuckup over there."

Fletcher shook his head and said something. From now on you can assume that he is Kenny from South Park and the other characters kind of block out the boring shit that he says.

Except to summarize it. Valkyrie does so for us so that we can move on. "That's right Fletcher, it's obviously because like many other girls under the age of SENSIBLE, this author has some sort of perverse sexual lust for this woman-hating serial killer that really hasn't killed anyone since his introduction."

"Hello!" Skulduggery called. "I've been curled up around my pillow for far too long. Somebody come pat my back or something."

"Nose goes," Sanguine said. Everyone's hand flew to their nose, with Fletcher's landing last.

"Was it Fletcher?" Skulduggery asked.

"Yes."

"Screw that. I guess I'll go beat up some guys about to harm an innocent female that can heal me with the powers of love or something. Maybe SHE will pat my back." He slammed the door behind him and stamped out to his car. I can only imaging that he got mud all over his shoes and coat and stuff.

Fletcher said something in a curious manner in order for the author to make a point.

"I don't know," Valkyrie said. "I think that _you_ are being pretty in-character. Something is definitely wrong with the rest of us, but don't expect it to be resolved, though; in order to be a good fan-fiction writer, apparently all you need to do is write a collection of one shots with unlikely pairings."

Sanguine grinned. "That's a good drinking game."

"What is?"

"Open the Skulduggery Pleasant page on and take a shot every time you see a collection of one-shots. Take another shot every time you see a summary that begs people to read their story in all lowercase or all uppercase letters. Take another shot every time any variation of 'Skulduggery Pleasant' is in the title. Take-"

"Please stop, we'll all get liquor poisoning."

Fletcher asked something.

"No, I don't think liquor poisoning is fatal."

Fletcher looked sad in a way that had nothing to do with the plot. Seriously, he's treated like jewelry to a story most of the time. Poor guy. Needs some love.

* * *

A/N: To those of you who believe that I made fun of your fanfiction in this satire, please douse yourself in cold water. Valkyrie has had her ass admired in no less than four fanfictions that I have read, and **WHY DOES EVERY ROMANCE FIC SHE'S IN TURN HER INTO A FUCKING GIRLY GIRL. _STOP IT._**

Screw conclusions, screw editing, I'm posting this and then going to bed.

As a side note, would it kill you to just post something saying "Hey I read your thing"? Even if you say "It was boring offensive shit" I'll be glad to know that I'm not preaching to an empty auditorium.


	2. On the Set of Duskyrie

Valkyrie could barely walk in the heels she was assigned to. Her top speed was a sort of girly run that pinched her toes and wouldn't help her escape from anything- especially a vampire that was going to be in close proximity with her.

Sanguine had submitted his suggest revisal of the script for tonight after painstakingly crossing out each and every line and writing "No, not EVER" at the end. The author had been very amused and tittered pleasantly at him. Now she was giggling with the camera crew while Sanguine huddled in his chair dejectedly. Valkyrie wasn't sure what the Auth had done to him, but it was effective. She considered bottling it and using it whenever Dusk got too close, but no doubt that would get her slapped.

Being a fictional character sucked, she thought. And then she thought that if she spilled something on her dress, maybe the monstrosity about to take place would be postponed...?

She hurried over to Sanguine. "Hey. Do you have, like, coffee or something?"

He glared at her suspiciously. "If this is a prank, I want in."

"Sort of. I thought that if we ruined our clothes or something..."

"Did you see the big ol' moving van in the back, the one where they keep getting all the doughnuts?"

Valkyrie had.

"There's a couple of boxes of sugar-filled confectionaries, and the rest is filled with clothes. The same clothes we need to act in."

"What if we set the clothes on fire."

Sanguine chuckled. "That might be-"

"Alright guys, sun's almost setting!" The author shouted through her megaphone. Nobody could really tell what she was saying, but there was no other reason she would be shouting like that with a smile on her face.

Oh yeah, did I forget to mention where they were? Silly, clumsy me.

A breeze sweeps through Valkyrie's fluttering purple dress and covets the mud-covered river hundreds of feet below them. The sun begins to hide itself behind the horizon in anticipation of the impending problems with a vampire and nighttime, and yeah they're in the Grand Canyon because there are no canyons in Ireland.

Valkyrie swallowed nervously, glancing across the cliff at Dusk. He appeared relaxed, almost cheerful. That was never a good sign- Valkyrie had been watching him all day and he hadn't once produced a syringe.

Maybe if she jumped off the cliff, the river would break her fall? It would also ruin her dress, but that was a bonus for it not being soaked in Ancient blood. As Auth shooed her over to her starting position, she peeked over the edge.

The river was about fifty feet away from the edge. She wasn't going to make that jump, unless she suddenly learned how to fly like Skulduggery.

Dusk chuckled as she drew nearer, stumbling a little on the uneven ground. His teeth seemed to gleam softly in the fading light- they had undoubtedly been polished earlier this afternoon by a crack-team of super-powered dentists. Perhaps Cleavers. No doubt several of them had been killed in the process, unless Dusk had agreed to cooperate.

"Why the hell are you smiling?" Valkyrie hissed. The Auth animatedly checked the cameras one more time.

Dusk's grin widened. "Because I'm about to kill that miserable ugly bitch."

"Oh good." Valkyrie swallowed. "But you're going to kill me first, aren't you?"

"That's the idea."

"If you kill me but don't kill her, make sure that I don't come back to life as a clueless slut that can mind-read, use necromancy and fly, okay?"

"I'll keep it in mind. It might be amusing."

"Positions!" The Auth screamed. "We have to do this fast! Dusk, you've done your Heroin thing right?"

Dusk nodded, biting his lip to keep from laughing.

"Try to not act so giddily happy. You're supposed to be a badass, not a... giddy person. I'd have gotten Fletcher if I wanted giddy, but he's not manly enough for Valkyrie. She needs someone that can _beat the crap out of her_. And she needs to _take it with a smile_."

"That... that moral sounds kind of wrong. Are you sure you want to show this to impressionable young adults?" Sanguine asked.

"Why not? Stephanie Meyer did. ACTION!"

Valkyrie glanced desperately at the sun. It was almost gone.

"Cut! Valkyrie, your line is not look desperately at sun like it's a ticking bomb', it's 'eye Dusk with lusty youthy passion and say something throatily'. I don't really care what you say, as long as teenagers think it could be hot. ACTION!"

"Your biceps are huge! Kiss me!" Valkyrie stepped out of her shoes as Dusk began to hunch over- presumably with laughter.

"Stop referencing House Bunny! You're a badass, you can't be referencing frivolous nonsense like that! Hey, is Dusk oka... oh." The Auth tapped her watch, disappearing Star Trek style with a beam of blue light. The camera crew, Sanguine, and Valkyrie were left to fend for themselves.

Valkyrie launched herself off the cliff, cushioning the air below her as she fell and hoping that Dusk wouldn't jump after her. Sanguine was already behind the wheel of the fastest car, hightailing it out of there.

The camera crew did their best to capture the action as Dusk slaughtered them.

#

Miles away, in Ireland, Skulduggery and China shared a peaceful cup of tea- that is to say, China had a cup of tea- and relished the quiet while the Auth was away. Fletcher was off doing something unimportant.

"Weren't you going to look for a woman named Mary?" China asked. I'm not sure how their conversation got to this point, so I guess we can assume that they just started talking even though the tea is already ready to drink and at a temperature that is sippable, not to mention how they greeted each other and made their way to the table...

"A woman named Mary," China reiterated for our benefit.

"Well, she usually comes to me," Skulduggery admitted. "I'm much more of a pansy when I'm the one chasing the girl, who is usually either about Valkyrie's age or significantly older. I can also run from the ones chasing me and claim 'emotional trauma' instead of looking like a dirtbag."

China smiled. "I guess you really didn't need someone to pat your back?"

"What are you talking about? That didn't happen. You're so lucky that you're left alone much of the time."

"Well, that's going to be ending soon." China sighed. "I've heard through the grapevine that the Auth plans to pair me... with Fletcher."

Somewhere unimportant, Fletcher punched the air in celebration.

* * *

**A/N**: Oh snap! How will our beautiful seductress escape this stunning entanglement?

Also, this is going to veer a bit away from straight satire and head right into the AU/Metaphysical. I promise it will still make fun of all of you and also Twilight often enough to keep you interested, though.


	3. Secret Message of Mystery

Skulduggery stared at the card in his glove. It was a business card, plain and simple, and how he obtained it he wasn't quite certain. Somebody mysterious had probably slipped it under his door, but that mysterious person would probably turn out to have been Lord Vile or something stupid. Because Lord Vile is most definitely dead.

"How is this fic going to continue once Mortal Coil comes out?" Skulduggery asked the narrator.

I'll probably ignore it, or mix in fun facts that we find out in a blaringly obvious way.

"...That's lazy writing."

Hey, shut up. Writing something between books and then having the next one come out saying 'Hahahaha, you're so stupid, Skulduggery was an ONLY CHILD DUMBFUCK' is soul-crushing.

"What kind of moron would wri- oh, wait, do I want to ask?"

No. Investigate the card in your hand. Or rather, let me do that. Unless you want to talk some more- I know you love the sound of your own voice.

"Shut up. It says-"

THIS IS STUPID. YOU HAVE NO FINESSE.

"Stop capslocking!"

NO.

The card advertised a therapist that Skulduggery had indeed heard of, in passing. Valerie-

"Her name. Is Valerie. Are you joking."

No. Hold on, I forgot her last name.

Skulduggery waited impatiently, staring at the blank spaces on the card where information had been left out. The brown curly letters shone slightly when he tilted it, and a secret message appeared:

_Don't Tell Auth_

The narrator pretended not to notice this as he resumed filling in the blanks. Her name was Valerie Allons-y _oh god that is such a stupid name. _Someone likes Doctor Who too much.

Her name was Michelle Cellany and, as previously mentioned, she worked as a therapist. Her number had been circled by a Sharpie, or perhaps a Magic Marker. It was a 555 number* but Skulduggery could be sure that if he called it, it would be answered.

He called it and scheduled an appointment with the overly chipper woman on the other end. He then considered carrying his gun with him to the appointment (as if he didn't carry it everywhere _anyway_), just in case Michelle's true name was Mary.

#

Valkyrie hated dresses, she missed sneakers, and somehow she had made it from the Grand Canyon to Las Vegas Strip in about three hours. The wind from the passing cars chilled her to the bone and being splattered with mud really didn't help her mood. She had no pockets, she was in America, and Sanguine pulled up next to her on the street and rolled down the window.

"How did you find me?" Valkyrie asked suspiciously. She hoped that he was on her side in this, but she also knew from her father that getting into green pick up trucks with strange men that have a history of stabbing you is a very bad idea.

"Instincts." Sanguine said. "Well, actually, this part of the world is pretty far from Ireland, so there's only one street that I can drive on. It's this one. The only one the Auth has been to."

"Oh."

"And I have a proposition for you."

"Does it involve me getting new clothes and maybe a shower?"

"Even better: I grabbed one of the suitcases from the big Semi at the set, thinking it was mine, but it's yours. Enjoy."

Valkyrie twisted her ring around her finger, suddenly remembering that she had it. She'd be safe with it on, since Sanguine's powers were pretty crippled.

He suddenly remembered that too. "Actually, I take it back. Watching you wander the Strip for a while without shoes is going to be fun. Did you have any money?"

Valkyrie stuck her hand inside the truck and shadows shot out like vines to caress Sanguine's neck thoughtfully. "I really don't need you, you know. You've been nothing but a pain in the ass and comic relief since you were introduced."

He unlocked the door. "Have fun watching your back while you're asleep."

"Believe me, I don't intend to be sleeping around you. We're running on fanfic time- the only time I will sleep is if Narry wants you to watch me sleeping or something. Or let us get ambushed. But mostly having you watching me sleep."

"True enough."

"Not to mention that I have contractual immortality**."

Sanguine shrugged. "That doesn't mean I can't, I don't know, stab you a few times. You'll barely survive and I'll probably die for my troubles, but it'll be nice."

#

Fletcher left a wilting daisy on China's doorstep. She stepped on it and didn't notice the stem sticking to her heel until she walked on a white carpet.

She didn't _have_ any white carpets, so that took a while.

* * *

*555 numbers are used by television shows and the like because they don't exist. If they use a 'real' number, and it's a popular enough show, you can be guaranteed that some poor man in Spain is going to be spam called by thousands of fans hoping to reach Scapegrace's cell.

**Basically, a character that is made immortal because the story could not continue without them. A good way to figure out who is more immune to death is to count how often their name is said if it's a book, or who says the funniest jokes if it's a movie or TV show.

(Although, some authors tend to ignore this or go to the opposite extreme. Like Joss Whedon.)

* * *

If you want me to feature one of your OCs in the story, let me know! Just be warned, I'll probably make fun of them very cruelly and then kill them.

Like Gordon.

He is my role-model.

Also, the Narrator is officially a character. His name is Narry and he likes taking long walks on the Seas of Purple Prose and ogling sunsets.


	4. A Hyperlink At The Bottom May Help Y'all

Fletcher searched Valkyrie's fridge, and, finding nothing, did her shopping. He noticed the living room floor getting covered in crumbs since he ate in there, and he vacuumed it. For good measure he washed the sheets and made all the beds.

He checked the clock and teleported to the airport, texting her quickly.

Fifteen minutes later, he texted again, and again, finally calling her.

At 9:45 AM, he called Skulduggery Pleasant to tell him something important.

#

Ms. Cellany worked from home, having bifurcated said home into two parts. The right was the office, the left was the house, and they were connected by a wide hallway.

As Skulduggery sat in said hallway in a rather comfy cloth armchair, he mused that the whole house was rather like an H, with a driveway in front and a well-tended garden in back. The therapist was there now, walking with one of her patients. He took the opportunity to observe her from afar, because meshing her description with their first dialogue would be distracting.

She looked average, even through the slightly tinted glass. Brown hair, rectangular glasses. Her make-up wasn't visible from this far away, which was a blessing, and her slim, gangly form was contained by a rather modest green 3/4 length top and black slacks. He couldn't see her shoes.

Looking up, Skulduggery marveled at the shortness of that paragraph. The readers probably had a very good idea of what she looked like, it didn't involve any flashing colors, and it was less than 60 words long (or four lines in Microsoft Word). Impressive. It even included a negative adjective and refrained from saying "her boobs were like the Baby Bear's Rocking Chair- Not too big, not too small, just right!"

Skulduggery checked the watch I suddenly decided he has and discovered that it was his turn for therapy. For reference purposes that time is 9:00 AM. I'm not all that sure why he scheduled this spur-of-the-moment meeting in the same timeslot as going to get Valkyrie, but maybe he wanted Fletcher to do something interesting for once, or give the Auth a chance to write some romance that actually has canon basis.

The door to the garden swung open and Michelle's voice was audible for the first time. Its clarity struck Skulduggery- as opposed to Mary Sue ramblings and awkward syntax, she actually spoke like a person.

"-But I guess you'll have to wait and find out. Maybe she isn't all you think she'll be, or you aren't all she thinks you'll be. Give it a while."

Well, when I say that she speaks like a person, I mean that she speaks like a teenager. What did you expect, when the writer is a teenager herself? She's not Joss Whedon, even if she is influenced by him and that's why her dialogue is the way it is.

"How long is a while?" The neurotic-looking man asked, glancing at the Family Guy episode where Brian spends the entire episode 'waiting until the time was right' to sleep with his girlfriend but takes too long, ending with the girl leaving him.

"Uh. Probably a week or two? Don't move in or anything." Michelle giggled. "Make sure you can tell me all about it, and don't try to hide your furry little problem from her. That's always bad. She already knows, right?"

The man cringed.

"Oh. Make sure to tell her. To her face, mind you. Don't text it, because that's just rude and there _is_ the chance that she might not know how to text you back." Ms. Cellany opened the door for him. "See you next week?"

The man hesitated. "Yeah. I'll call if... sooner. Yeah."

"Yeah," Michelle agreed."

"Yeah." He chuckled as he left. Before the door even swung closed, Michelle turned her back and glanced up and down the hallway, gliding right over Skulduggery. She frowned slightly.

Skulduggery helped her out by standing up and walking over to her. Her peripherals were excellent and her face lit up with understanding. "Oh! A facade!* I thought you wouldn't get one for a few chapters, to make the integration with the new book more believable."

Skulduggery shrugged. "I guess I've had it for a few weeks. Long enough for Valkyrie to tell me it's creepy for me to smile all the time and for me to train myself to actually have recognizable emotions on my face, instead of looking like the Joker."

"What, was your hair green before it was red?" Michelle asked.

"No, it was black. Before _that_ it was brown."

"How many times have you switched so far?"

"Pick a number under seven."

Michelle smirked slightly. "Let's go with six. I remember-" she faltered for a moment, but regained herself. "A friend of mine had nearly twenty before she settled on a face she liked."

Skulduggery caught the way her body language closed up, arms crossing as if to ward off a chill while her eyes darted to the side. "What happened to her?"

"Caught in an explosion. It really wasn't pretty. Aaaaaanyways, office or garden?"

The skeleton's currently grey eyes stared at her. Almost as abrupt as the change of topic was the change in the way she held herself- now it was shoulders broad, hand on hip, and a gesture. Bold, self-confident movements.

"Odd," Skulduggery said.

"What is?"

"That you're letting me choose."

If Michelle suspected him of lying, it didn't show on her face. "It isn't really all that weird. I have either an office or a garden. Some people prefer the office because it's warmer and I have one of those bed-couch things, and some people prefer the garden because running around in the rain is fun for them."

Skulduggery had already seen the garden. "Office, then."

She gestured behind him, and Skulduggery noticed as she moved off the carpet between the adjacent doors that the shoes she wore tapped on the tile. He looked down curiously at demure black flats and the hem of her glass-covered pants.

"I need to get these fitted," Michelle admitted to his unspoken 'Are her pants really that long and if so why did she walk around in the bushes with them on?' "They're new, and they really didn't look this long in the store. I guess I misjudged how tall I am. Did you know you have a tell?"

He guessed that suddenly changing topics were a norm in the business of Michelle Cellany. "A tell?"

"When you lie."

He hadn't known. Possibly a side-effect of the facade. "What is it?"

She laughed, covering her mouth as if to shelter the low sound. "Do you really think I'm telling you? Half of what I do in this office is going to be psychological torture, especially for someone with a past like yours, so I figure I might as well get you guessing now."

"So you really intend to..." Skulduggery struggled to find the verb. "Therapise? Is that it?"

"Well, you're paying me to do it, so I may as well provide you with therapy."

"What about the card?" Skulduggery asked, absentmindedly noticing that they were floating through a page of white and white text (or purple and black text) without any background information to prove otherwise.

The color scheme had changed from the blue-and-green of the lobby to warmer colors, such as many shades of brown and dark reds. The carpet was dark enough that the grass Michelle was slowly leaving behind her wouldn't stain, and the windows were mostly shuttered.

The office space was rather small, though, when compared to the length of the lobby and the presumed size of the house area. A rather lopsided H, then. Or perhaps an h.

Or a q, if the street closed the top...

Skulduggery noticed Michelle staring at him, her hand a closed door. "That's creepy," she said.

"What is?"

"The way you were grinning."

Skulduggery's eyebrows rose with a moment of concentration."I was grinning?"

"That is somehow even _more_ creepy."

"What is?"

"That you didn't _know_ you were smiling!" She paused. "Also, it's kind of throwing me off."

"What is?"

"That's the third time you've said that."

"You were explaining how I was throwing you off without touching you in any way that might be misconstrued as 'throwing', or even 'pushing'."

Michelle chuckled, smiling slightly. "I'm an adept. I read people, the signals they send, and your signals are all weird. Now that I think about it, you probably weren't nearly as surprised as your eyebrows said you were. Maybe you were skeptical, but can't do this." She raised a single eyebrow at him.

Skulduggery raised both of his at her in return.

"See! (Also, that was a visual gag, discouraged in literature.) You definitely need some practice. In the meantime, don't be surprised if I react oddly to your face."

"To my face?"

"Stop asking questions in incomplete sentences, it's getting repetitive."

"Well, this _is_ a satire."

"Smashing the fourth wall into bits is also getting old."

"No it's not. It's one of the selling-points for this fic."

Michelle snickered.

Skulduggery remembered how to frown. "What?"

"You just look so _shocked_ every time you try to look skeptical. It's all kinds of amusing."

The detective didn't like people laughing at him. It struck him all of a sudden that she was being quite rude to him... no, that wasn't it. She was acting far too friendly towards him.

He wasn't sure if he wanted her as a friend. "_You're_ the one who said I needed practice."

There was far more force behind his voice than he had meant. It took her a moment to recover, so in the meantime she opened the door.

In contrast to the dark, lightless room they were in (I'm not entirely sure why this room even exists, actually, or why the lobby exists, when she could just have her clients in her home...) the office's shutters were open and the colors tended towards cream, outlined with dark woods and colorful fabrics.

She did indeed have one of those reclining couch things, as well as the same comfy chairs from the lobby. He chose one of the chairs, and to his surprise, she lay down on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

"So why did you come for therapy, anyway?"

"On your business card, there was a message."

"From one of your friends?" Michelle asked.

She didn't know. Some other, mysterious individual had told him not to tell Auth.

"Yes, I guess."

Michelle scoffed. "'You guess'? You might as well tell me that you don't know who wrote it if you're going to use uncertain language."

For a moment he wanted to smack her for being right.

"But for what it's worth, you actually _do_ need therapy."

Skulduggery felt himself stiffen, coiled like a snake to either snap at her or crumple like rice-paper in the rain.

She continued, and it occurred to him that she looked tense as well, because she knew that her next words could be the prologue to serious damage to her person. "You're angry, right? Just like before, but different now. It comes on and off like a hose, and you can't stop it. Other people have helped you, but it's only a matter of time before you do something everyone will regret, and there's enough distance between you and everyone around you, enough secrets, that you're not sure you can tell them about this. But they see it anyway, and it scares them."

She paused for a few seconds, raising her head to look at him. He had crumpled slightly, but a wall of steel wound between him and her. She was smart. Possibly smarter than him, in a different way, in a way that he had no defense against.

To do her job, she would need him to open up to him. If he did, she could seek out his heart and kill it, or she could make him whole.

(She also seemed to spout metaphors and similes whenever she appeared on the page to an extent that made him wonder when he stepped into an Anne Rice novel. Or perhaps Twilight, but the writer likes to think that her metaphors aren't that horrible, obvious, and terrible.)

Michelle waited while he considered, slowly retracting his claws. "You're right. Right on every point."

A smile of self-satisfaction flashed across her face long enough for Skulduggery to want to punch it off of her, before softening into an actual smile. "For a moment, I thought that I had breathed my last."

"If you had been holding your breath, you might have. It took me long enough." Skulduggery checked his watch. "I know we were running on fanfic time, but 9:45? It really took me about 35 minutes to-"

His phone rang. His omnipresent creepy smile sunk from his face for perhaps the first time since the eyebrow conversation, which meant that he was grinning at Michelle the whole time he was considering whether or not to kill her.

* * *

**A/N**: HAHAHA, oh God. I think I might have nightmares about that last line. See what I do for you guys?

One of those things that I do is that this chapter is longer than the others, by about a thousand words! Yaaaay! I'm going to try and make this a constant, instead of doing what happens in my other stories: The first chapter is the longest and it all goes downhill. Unless you like that or something. I know I don't. It doesn't let me _do_ anything with the chapter other than make a few jokes.

In other news, I'm thinking of a name for a villain. She is going to be Japanese and her name has to be some pun with "death". (Remember, if it has "Shi" in it, or is written with "Four", that will count.) The person that comes up with the best Deathsue name will win a prize.

Their name, **right here** in the fic.

Or I might list all entries and let you vote. In the case that there may be NO entries, here is MY entry:

Shiyuri Shinkawa, for extra alliterative appeal.

_**LET THE GAMES BEGIN.**_


End file.
